


eleven eleven: a Dan and Phil fanfiction.

by thesestarsareyours



Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: AU, Amazingphil - Freeform, Angst, Chaptered, Cliques, Dan Howell - Freeform, Dan Howell and Phil Lester Are Teenagers, Emotional!Phil, Fluff, Highschool AU, M/M, Pastel!Phil, Phan - Freeform, Phandom - Freeform, Phil Lester - Freeform, Popular!Dan, Slow Burn, Songfic, WIP, danisnotonfire - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-11
Updated: 2017-04-10
Packaged: 2018-08-30 09:23:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,590
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8527720
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thesestarsareyours/pseuds/thesestarsareyours
Summary: dan is mysterious and sarcastic, keeping everyone at arm's length with his oddly cold demeanour - so why does he melt whenever he sees phil?





	1. oxytocin

**Author's Note:**

> i'm still figuring out ao3, and this is my first fic on here! I hope you like it!! EDIT: formatting of the story :)

_ PART I: oxytocin. _

_ DAN _

_ 7th september, 7:08 AM _

'You know what they say, fifteenth time lucky,' I murmur, watching the shadows dance across the deserted road. I pick at my tie, an all-too-familiar mixture of dread and disgust creeping into my mind yet again. I lean against the derelict bus station, waiting for the coach to arrive, taking me to a new school. Not that new, though. Sure, maybe the hallowed halls may look a little cleaner or be painted a different colour, but all schools are fundamentally the same. Same types of teachers, always yelling about homework and tests. Same students, the insufferable jocks, pretentious over-achievers, the painfully unaware hordes of people being unique in the same way. All of them doomed to follow a path plodded down by millions of people before them, while thinking it was their own.

 

How sad it would be, being a regular person. Almost as bad as being destined to shadow them, having friends almost but not quite, loving almost but not quite, feeling almost but not quite, doomed to a half-life behind the walls you build for yourself. But, shadowing is what I do best.  
The bus pulls up, and I climb on, searching for an empty seat. Somewhere where I'd look completely unimportant, inconsequential. A face and a place nobody would be remember.

 

'Oi, faggot!'  
Oh crap.  
My better judgement told me to keep walking and ignore the bleached blonde jock torture the poor kid. My better judgement told me to ignore feelings for safety. My better judgement told me to sit somewhere else and keep my head down.

 

And for the first time in my life, I told my better judgement to shut the hell up.  
I stop short in front of a torn apart bus seat, acting oblivious to the weedy preps making crude jokes about the boy next to me, and I sit down.  
Silence. Everyone stares at me like I made out the black mop next to me, rather than just sit down, and I can't help but relish in their amazement. Might as well give them a show, right?  
'Hi. I'm Dan,' I say, smirking. A small voice from the back of my head pipes up, parroting off what mum told me this morning, while she was straightening my tie.  
We're staying here now, till you turn 18. So maybe lay off on the stoic solitude act, okay Dan?  
I smother that voice. This is just for fun. I'm not going to get attached to this kid. I don't think I can really get attached to anything anymore, and I'm not putting anyone through it. Maybe he could show me around, though.  
A quiet voice drips through the air, auditory caramel. 'I'm Phil, Phil Lester. It's nice to meet you, Dan.' He looks up, and my breath hitches slightly. He has freshly fallen snow for skin, cherry-blossom lips, and statuesque cheekbones. But his eyes. His eyes are every single romantic cliche wrapped into one. They're as blue as the North Sea in spring-time, and full of emotion. His eyes are teeming with emotion and unbridled optimism, and childlike wonder. Part of me is envious of him for this. God knows I need more of that. I need to be careful around Phil Lester.  
'So, what are you listening to? I left my iPod at home,' I ask, trying to sound nonchalant, and avoiding eye contact. Looking at him is like shooting up, and i can't afford an addiction.  
'Erm, Fall Out Boy. Do you want a headphone?'  
'Yeah, thanks.' The rest of the bus journey passes in utter silence and stolen glances, and i can't help but think, what if? But I know that the answer isn't good enough. So when we get off the bus, and he shows me around, I stare at my shoes. When he tries to make conversation, I give monosyllabic answers. When he eventually gets tired of me, and leaves, I mumble a thanks and make it my mission to avoid him. In the first few days, i can feel him staring at me, and the guilt is almost overwhelming. That is, until he stops, (he's grown tired of me, like they always do). As the weeks pass, and I'm sure he's forgotten about me, I still find my eyes lingering on his face.

 

And i don't know what to do.


	2. Pt. II: fools

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 100+ reads ALREADY! So, I cranked this chapter out pretty quickly for you guys, but every chapter after this will be every friday :). If you haven't noticed, every chapter title is a song name, and I'll create a spotify playlist a few chapters in. Thanks for reading, reads, kudoses?, bookmarks and comments are THE BEST THING EVER. AND I'LL LITERALLY LOVE YOU!! (Does get a bit gay in this chapter ;o but sad next chapter- sorry my dudes.) END NOTE: SORRY FO4R INCONSISTENT I/i'S in this chapter D:

_PHIL_

_8th October, 10:42_

"This project is 75% of your grade, and for good reason. You, and a partner, are going to analyse an overarching theme in Shakespearean literature, while performing a dialogue focusing on said theme for those of you who take Drama. Before all of you rush the room looking for easy pickings, i am deciding your pairings and your theme," Mr McLaughlin says, in his booming voice. Everyone lets out a collective groan, because he's known for being oblivious to high school politics and causing many a black eye during a study session. i let out a pre-emptive wince, but by then McLaughlin is yelling out groups. 'Trevor and Adrian, you're on conflict. 'PJ and Matthew, lucky boys, you have time. And then there were two,' did he call my name already? i have no idea. 'Daniel and Phillip. You'll be glad to hear that i've saved best for last, heh. Do love in Shakespeare." Oh shit. Daniel Howell, the puppet-master of the whole student body, with a honeyed voice, brown sugar eyes and hair that looks like it's been woven from mahogany, is my partner. Daniel Howell, with a mist of enigma wafting around him in the form of locker room rumours and whispered stories about his past. Daniel Howell,  beautiful in the way stars are, distant, unattainable, and painful. Could this get any worse?

"i'd like all of you to sit with your partners until you give me your presentation, dialogue, and paper.'  

i spoke too soon. The bell rings, and i almost gasp in relief. Thankfully, i have a free period next, because i need to get out in the cold air, immediately. i leave the classroom, ignoring a confused Dan, asking the teacher about something. He's probably trying to change groups, i think to myself, a hint of bitterness creeping into my head. 

i'm walking fast, running almost, when i hear panting right next to me.

'Phil! Jesus you walk fast, slow down please, i'm too unfit for this!' Dan? Why is Dan talking to me? i make an abrupt stop, and whip round to face him.

'What d'you want, Dan? Why are you following me?' i say, hurt oozing into my words. 'N-nothing,' he stammers slightly. Not very used to people being upset at him, i guess.

'i just came up to tell you that i asked Mr McLaughlin about the project and it turns out we can use poetry as well? So, i was thinking we could use the sonnets as well, y'know?' He sounds... different. Like an actual person, i guess, with emotions and sensitivities. Not an unfeeling enigma, not  the mask he puts on at school. i like this Dan.

"Erm, okay. When do you want to get started? Most pairs are doing some groundwork now so-'

'D'you want to come over today? My house?'

Dan replies, smiling nervously.

Smiling.

Oh god, his smile. How do i describe his goddamn smile? it's worn down teddybears you've loved your whole life, and the smell of warm cookies your grandmother pulls out whenever she sees you; it's melting butter over chocolate pancakes, it's pink summer dusks where anything is possible, it's-- the smile of someone who i can never have, platonically or romantically. i tear my eyes away from him, and stare at the ground.

"Y-yeah. So, what's your address?'

"Uh... i don't know it yet. Let's walk together?'

"Erm, if you want to. i'll see you outside school at half 3, then?' i glance at my watch. Eleven eleven. "it's eleven eleven,' i blurt out, instantly regretting it. "Make a wish," i finish, cringing. He looks quizzical, but he obliges, crinkling his eyes shut and mouthing something unintelligible. i cross my fingers and hope for the usual, but somewhere at the back of my mind, i hear a whisper.

dan.

i shut the whisper up. 

We awkwardly part ways at the bell, Dan heading to Maths or Science or something like that and i just continue walking around the huge school fields. King's is vast and overwhelming, which is why i love it, i guess. There are so many hidden places here, so many enclaves of beauty, that getting lost becomes exciting. i can just escape here- leaving insults and snide remarks behind- and hide away with my emotions and a sketchbook. i head to the edge of the pitch, where the woods begin, and find the clearing. PJ is already there, waiting.

"Took you a while, Philly!' He chuckles, an infectious laugh that draws you in and doesn't let you go.

"My English partner chased me, i can't help it Peej,'

"Oh- and who was it that deserved my precious Phil time more than me?' He mocks, pulling a silly face. i pause- should i tell him?

"Uhm. it was Dan,' i mutter, just loud enough for him to hear.

"Ah, that prick. i'm sorry for you loss, dude. if it makes you feel any better, i have to spend the next year with Sir Ken Doll, the wanker. So, my dear boy, what are we going to draw today?'

PJ changes the topic quickly, and moves in closer, practically prying my sketchbook from my hands. He's the only one who's seen inside my sketchbook, a tattered leather-bound journal where i just pour my emotions out in hasty sketches and melancholy watercolours. it's not my best art, or even a proper sketchbook- more like a cross between therapy and a teenage girl's diary.

"Why don't i draw, erm, that tree over there? it really speaks to me, on a spiritual level,' i tease Peej. He loves it when i draw him, no matter how rubbish the work actually is. That's what friends are for, right? To admire your shitty artwork and give you company in the woods?

"Phillip Lester, i swear to god, i'm being bitten by strange woodland creatures for you, so you better goddamn draw me,' he replies, dramatically swatting away a fly.

"Shhh, my muse, silence suits you. Don't anger the artist!' i whip out a pencil and exaggerate furious pencil strokes, keeping on until i almost pass out from laughter. We spend the rest of our free period staring at the sky and giggling, and it's moments like this which remind me of how important PJ is to me. He's been my best friend since we were babies, and one of the only people who stuck up for me when that bastard outed me. He gets my awful sense of humour and my intense & sporadic range of emotions, and he's the closest thing to a brother i'll ever have.

The bell rings in the distance, and we part ways. The rest of the lessons pass in a blur of dread, as i await the end of the day and Dan's house with anxiety.

"Class, you are dismissed.'

Oh crap.

i shuffle out of class, trudging to the lockers, waiting for Dan. i'm half-expecting his cronies to emerge out of the shadows and beat me up, but he walks up alone, looking me in the eyes for seconds, before dropping his gaze.

"So, you like Fall Out Boy, but what about other bands? I'm pretty fond of--'

"Muse. I like Muse,' i interject.

"Damn, dude. Same! i swear, Phil, next you're going to tell me you play stupid kids' video games,' he responds, laughing. His laugh is even better than his smile, if that's possible.

'Oh god, don't get me started. i play so much Pokemon I've started calling my goldfish Magikarp by mistake,'

'That's ju

st creepy. I'm starting to have doubts that we're even different people. Hey, maybe you're my long-lost northern brother!' The entire walk passes like this, almost as if we're friends, but he's always too superficial with his answers- two neighbours chatting over a fence, trying to keep up appearances, rather than really talking.

"We're here! You can just go straight up, dude. i don't think anybody's home, so don't bother about that,' he says, jamming his key into the front door. The house looks so beautiful and loved, so full of life and open to outside world- in glaring contrast to Dan. i head upstairs, walking through hallways which smell of paint and newly carpeted floors until i reach Dan's room. it's devoid of any emotion, almost. Black and white, it could almost be an Ikea showroom. Almost. Right by the window, there's a huge bookcase, full of everything, from poetry to science fiction. Interspersed between the shining spines are frayed Moleskines, used to the breaking point.  instinctively, i clutch my bag a little harder, thinking about my sketchbook. Just to finish it all off, right on his all black sheets, rests dilapidated Pooh plushie, at least a decade old. I sit on his bed, reading one of the poetry books, when he walks in.

"Uh, hi. So, the project?' he pipes up, leaning against the doorway. I drop the book.

'Yeah, yeah, of course. So, what did you have in mind?'

"Well, we could just play video games right now- I mean, we do have ages,' he laughs, "That was a joke, i don't know you well enough to thrash you in Mario Kart yet.'

"Is somebody chicken? Get ready to lose, danny boy,' I taunt.

"Now you've gone and done it. I'll get the Wii out, prepare to fail, phillip,' handing me a remote with a smirk on his face.

We play for hours, and I learn how high pitched Dan's screams can be. The sun begins to set, and I just ask my mum if I can spend the night. My mum is just delighted someone wants to spend time with me, so she readily agrees, and Dan and I flop back onto his bed, discussing everything but still nothing at all. Dan confuses me; we 'talk' so much but he holds me at arm's length, just far enough that he can keep his mask on. I want to yell at him to just talk to me, rather than avoid eye contact and chit-chat.

His mum invites us for dinner, but he just goes down and brings pizza and an oversized shirt for me, and we watch old cartoons in relative silence.

'Phiiiil,' I hear a whisper in my ear, and I turn over, half-asleep. I grab my glasses and stare sleepily at Dan. 'Guess what time it is, Phil,' he says, brushing my fringe out of my face, 'it's eleven eleven.' '

Make a wish, dan,' i mumble, crossing my fingers and hearing his name again, in the back of my mind.

'I already have, phil,' he says, under his breath, and i turn back over and fall asleep almost immediately.

Almost.

Just before i passed out, I swear i felt his lips on my forehead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew, that was definitely longer than the last chapter.


	3. iii. fools

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yo!! it's great to see all of you liked it so much :D i'd love to have an explanation for my absence, but it was actually just ... I forgot my account details ... reasons why i'm a fail much? But honestly i'm amazed that this actually got reads WOW?! Hope you like this chapter, & criticism is VERY MUCH APPRECIATED!! QOTC- what's the time & temperature where you live? Here it's 9:38 PM, and 27° Celsius !!

_DAN_

_8TH OCTOBER, 11:11 AM_  
"Make a wish,' Phil blurts out. I haven't wished on eleven eleven for years- I haven't wished on anything for years, and I'm pretty forthcoming about it. Wishing is so idealistic, so pathetic, so fucking irrational. Begging the universe to bend fate just because you saw a shooting star or you found a dandelion won't work, will it? It just makes you look like an idiot.  
But, for some reason, i still cross my fingers, scrunch my eyes up, and make a wish. I feel like I'm twelve years old again, full of hope and dreams and other impossible things. And it doesn't feel that bad. I open my mouth to say something spontaneous and unplanned and (probably) utterly idiotic, but just when I do, the bell blares, and we part ways.  
I walk to Maths and half listen to Mr. Atwood droning on about calculus, but the other half of my mind is consumed with the whisper at the back of my mind when I made my wish.  
Phil.  
I go through the motions for the rest of the day, erratically seeing Phil's hair, or his eyes, or his lips in the back of my mind, always waiting for the day to end so I could see him again. I attempt to remind myself about the promises I've made to myself about not getting too attached to anyone here, not letting anyone get too close, but optimistic thoughts still course through my head. maybe, just maybe, we can be friends.  
maybe we can be more.  
Oh, for fuck's sake.  
The last crush i had was Aaron, and there's no way in hell I'll make that mistake again. Still, that undercurrent of maybes and mights surge through my head like waves, lapping up on the shores of my thoughts, encouraging me to believe.  
At last, we're let out and I can go find Phil. I rush out, ducking and weaving in between the hordes of people carrying books while milling about. When I finally escape the crowds and get to the lockers, Phil is already there waiting for me, fiddling with his phone and keeping his head down and begging for attention to be directed away from him.  
"Phil,' i look at him, waiting for him to realise that I'm here. Once he hears my voice, it's clear my had no idea I arrived, because he jumps about two feet in the air. I catch his gaze accidentally , and then i can't drop it. His eyes are the stuff of sonnets, odes, literary devotion. They encompass every shade of blue, from duck egg to turquoise to navy, but what's really beautiful is the way they sparkle. Glittering with emotion and wonder, his eyes are made of dreams and ice cream sundaes and letters to Santa, and by god if i could fall in love, I would fall in love with Phil Lester's eyes. If I could fall in love. If I could feel like a regular human being, I would tell Phil about his eyes and his hair and his smile, but I've hidden my heart away for too long to stop now. So I quickly drop my eyes to the floor and remind myself to keep distance.  
We chat on the way to my house, but it's nothing of note. Just pre-fabricated banter and half meant pleasantries, using up oxygen but putting out nothing interesting. Somehow, even superficial playing-at-friendship interactions put me at ease when I'm with phil. His awkward jokes make me laugh, really laugh, and I almost feel like i can relax, and really talk.  
Almost, but not quite.  
"We're here! You can just go straight up, dude. i don't think anybody's home, so don't bother about that,' I say, shoving my key into the door and holding it open. Phil looks around in awe, marvelling at the dozens of paintings and baby photos, all jumbled around on the buttery walls. While it smells overwhelmingly of fresh paint and new money, I always think it reminds me of a hippie commune, what with all the warm colours, dreamcatchers and buddha statues, as well as the randomly scattered knick knacks littered on every available surface. It really is everything that my black and white, homage to IKEA, impersonal and minimalist room is not, and Phil's face when he walks in confirms that.  
I find him sat on my bed, engrossed in a book of poetry. His lips just agape, his glasses close to slipping off his nose, and his tie ever so slightly loosened, I realise he's not like Aaron, at least in one aspect.  
He's much cuter.  
I'm stood there against the doorway, painting his face in my mind, committing him to memory, slowly letting my guard down. And, temporarily, I let it.  
After veritable centuries of watching him mumble Keats and Blake, I realise he's too engrossed to even notice my presence.  
"Uh, hi. So, the project?', I chuckle, watching him scramble to drop the book and assume nonchalance. Thankfully, we decide to play Marko Kart instead, so I can hide my intense love of Shakespeare from the world for another few days.  
The time flies by in a flurry of thrown Wiimote controls and giddy banter and stolen glances at each other, and i find myself imagining what it would be like to lean a little bit closer, look a little bit longer, touch a little bit more deliberately. And yet, whenever I come anywhere close to it, all I see is Aaron, and yet again, I pull away.  
I realise I'm sending the most mixed fucking signals in the history of all time, but for some reason, I can't help it. I want him, I want him so goddamn bad, but I know I don't deserve him. He's beauty and happiness and love, and all I'll do is hurt him, because that's all I do to anybody- cause them pain. In this moment, though, it doesn't matter. In this moment, I let it happen. So, when he jokes about staying over, I lend him a shirt, and when he takes my bed instead of the couch, I don't move away, and when I'm half asleep, and he asks me to make a wish, his face pops into my head, and I don't try to make it leave.


End file.
